


An Arrow Loosed

by katiebour



Series: Arrow's Path [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Battle, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Outdoor Sex, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on the k!meme, in honor of Jakface's awesome calendar and the very sexy month of Sebastune:</p><p>Summertime in Kirkwall can be quite hot and humid. All around the city, the poor people undo that extra toggle, forget that slip, etc. It's not a time to stay indoors, even at night.</p><p>Unfortunately, fate has been unkind to a prince and the (would-be) Champion.</p><p>Escaping the heat in some dark place - a cave, a dilapidated and abandoned farmstead or house, shady forest glen etc. - Sebastian and Hawke are soaked with sweat and uncomfortable. Suggesting the need to get out of their soiled clothing and try to cool off in a nearby water-source (pond, river, stream, pool, etc.) Like the above concept, Hawke or Sebastian starts shedding clothing and tries to get the other to follow suit (Sebastian pretends to nonchalant about it, thinking it for the best, or Hawke just can't take it any more). Either way, stripped down, they must no face the awkward feelings they each have been bottling up for so long. Only addition is that there might be a call for washing and/or dumping water on one another and cooling off, skinny-dipping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Arrow Loosed

**Author's Note:**

> Playing around with the timelines here- simply assume that Meeting Nathaniel happened in Act II. This is my first time trying to get into Seb's head, hence the discussion/plottiness. I hope you enjoy!

Kit ground her teeth in frustration.  Solivitus had promised her a not-insignificant sum if she managed to bring him some ironbark, and after coaxing the location out of Master Ilen on her last trip to Sundermount, she had been raring to go.  He'd mentioned darkspawn, though, and deciding to err on the side of caution, she'd gone looking for her companions.

Fenris had simply been gone- she knew he took mercenary contracts from time to time, and the short, laboriously printed note on his table, held down by that worthless tarnished dagger hilt he kept around confirmed his absence.

She'd shrugged and gone to the Viscount's Keep, but Aveline was embroiled in a series of smuggling investigations and couldn't be pulled away- Kit had been tersely informed that now was  _not_  a good time, and been summarily shown the door.

She'd checked at the Hanged Man to find that Varric had been cornered by a representative of the Merchant's Guild, and was going to spend the next four days doing his duty as a surface  _deshyr_  overseeing trade negotiations between Kirkwall, Orlais, and Orzammar.

Before she'd left, Varric had told her that Isabela was following yet another lead on her mysterious relic and hadn't been seen for several days.

Kit had checked with Merrill, but the little elf had babbled something about the  _eluvian_  and the carving tool they'd retrieved, and how she was in the middle of a ritual that involved waxing and waning moons, dancing, ingredients harvested at  _just_  such a time and she was so very sorry, but this had to be done now or else it'd have to wait for another three months, and perhaps they could go in a week or two-

Kit had simply nodded and left, the sound of the elf's confused, rambling apology following her out the door.

That left Anders, but really, Kit had rationalized, he was the best choice in any case, being a Warden and a healer.  They'd manage just fine against a few darkspawn.

She hadn't expected to find him in the clinic with thirty patients, pouring liquids down their throats as they groaned and shat and died, a sudden outbreak of cholera straining the holding capacity of the clinic.  She'd backed out as quickly as she'd come, the stench and the sounds of the crying and the dying dogging her footsteps.  He hadn't even said anything; simply met her eyes, shook his head, and motioned unambiguously for her to  _get out_  before she came down with the disease herself.

That left her with just one person to ask- and Kit was almost certain that a rich and pampered Prince-turned-Chantry-brother wouldn't be interested in retrieving plantlife.  He'd groused and wondered aloud on more than one occasion if she 'really needed him along' for a few less-than-heroic tasks.  

Of course he'd been happy enough to come along and help find the Warden, Howe.  "Crawling through blight-infested tunnels, rescuing Wardens in peril- this is what I signed on for," he'd commented with a grin, as though he were above more mundane missions.  Anything to appear the hero.

She wasn't sure whether to pity or despise him at times- when she'd grudgingly complimented him on the arrow that had found its way into a slaver's eye at hundreds of paces, he'd given her a smug look and crowed, "I  _am_  good, aren't I?"

Sometimes Kit wanted to smack him, hard- the constant blathering on about the Chantry got on her nerves.  But then there were times when he reminded her of Carver, times when she realized his words were as much to convince himself of his own worth as to convince anyone else.

From what she'd gleaned of his family, he'd been the youngest of four, two elder brothers and a sister.  His parents had been content with the traditional 'heir and a spare,' and the sister had been useful as political collateral, to be married off at their whim.  As yet another boy, he'd apparently been viewed as more of a potential rival to the throne, with no set place other than a glorified guard-captain position as head of the Starkhaven militia or a life of service to the Chantry.

And from what little he'd said in her company, with Isabela along, he'd disappointed the family on all counts- preferring the humble bow to the sword and shield, spending his youth drinking and whoring, friend to all of the wrong kinds of people.

His grandfather had apparently been one of the few people to take interest in the youngest Vael, encouraging him to pursue his fondness for archery, pushing him gently towards a less dissipated lifestyle in service to the Chantry.

No doubt the grandfather had been privy to the Prince and Princess' decision to ship their youngest off at thirteen to be a monk, and had simply tried to frame such a life in the best possible light.

Kit shuddered.  For all that the Hawke family had spent their lives running from the templars, at least she'd always known that her parents loved them, all of them, and had given them the freedom to choose their own interests and paths as much as possible.

Of course Da had encouraged her to learn combat skills- after it had become apparent that Beth had magic, he'd realized that Beth would need a protector.  Kit had fallen naturally into that role, and the fact that she enjoyed the discipline of martial study had simply meant that she embraced the choice.

Carver had always resented that- he'd spent enough time with the Lothering folk to pick up ideas about men protecting women, all of that nonsense, and he'd felt that she'd usurped his position as the only son and protector.  The number of times she'd put him on the ground when they'd practiced together hadn't helped, either.  

It wasn't that Da and Mother hadn't appreciated his interest- as far as they were concerned, the more protection Beth had, the better.  It was simply that Kit was the firstborn, years older, and no matter how much he practiced, or how strong he got, he simply couldn't match the advantage of skill her years gave her.

And so he'd grown angry and resentful, the youngest child who was neither heir to their father's magic nor the leader, protector, and head of the household that sons in Lothering were groomed to be, the twin who was pushed aside in combat drills and told  _Watch your sister's back.  She's busy protecting Beth._

In Sebastian, Kit saw that same rashness, the desire to prove oneself, to find a role that suited, the drive to be useful and needed and appreciated.  So even when he acted so smug she wanted to slap him, or when he preached Chantry dogma with all of the enthusiasm he could muster, or when he waffled back and forth aimlessly between accepting his title and keeping his vows, she remembered Carver.

 _He's just trying to find his place in life- the role where he can make a difference, be looked up to and admired, where his skills and dedication will be appreciated.  After spending years of being told, over and over, that you're doing the wrong thing, is it any wonder that he's plagued with fear and indecision as to what the_  right  _thing is?_

Kit shook her head, coming back to the present.  She spent far too much time thinking about the handsome and rash Vael as it was.  But he wasn't going to help her with such a mundane and thankless task as chopping up a tree famed for its hardness and carrying it back to town, even if he'd have the opportunity to play the hero by slaying darkspawn.

 _Probably wouldn't want to get that lily-white armor soiled,_  she thought to herself, snickering.   _Lacquered pilot whale, indeed, Varric._

Well, she'd fought darkspawn before, years ago, and her skills and gear were markedly improved.   _I'll just go and have a look- if it's too dangerous I'll come back.  But maybe I can just get some of the bark and go._

She wrapped up a bit of bread and cheese in a cloth, filled her water flask with watered ale, and packed a few potions and bandages into her travel pack along with the food.  It wouldn't do to go unprepared, after all.

Kit put her armor on, strapped on her longsword and shield, slung the pack over her shoulder and made for the door.   _It's miserably hot, but better to be prepared for the bandits and darkspawn than to be caught without armor in a fight._   It was a scant three-hour walk to the area marked on her map, just south of the Bone Pit.

Hand on the door, she squeaked at the sudden knock that came, startling her.  Kit opened the door, thinking in the next moment  _Think of the devil and he appears-_

The Vael stood before her, hand raised to knock, surprise on his face as he took in her armor and pack.  "Hawke," he said, in that beautiful brogue, "Just the woman I was hoping to see."

"Sebastian," Kit acknowledged.  "Can we make this quick?  I need to be on my way before it gets too hot."

He nodded.  "I was stopping by to see what your plans were for Funalis- the Chantry will be holding a special service including the recitation of the entire Canticle of Andraste."

Kit grimaced.  "Isn't that a little...tasteless for the Festival of Torches?"

Sebastian smiled.  "It is through Andraste's sacrifice on the pyre that we have been redeemed- truly, 'tis far better than partaking in pagan frivolity."

Kit rolled her eyes.   _Attending a service is better than dancing around a bonfire in new festival clothes, feasting and enjoying music?  I believe I prefer the pagans._

"Sorry to disappoint," she replied, "but I hadn't planned on attending the service that night.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have some darkspawn to kill."

Sebastian's slightly disapproving scowl disappeared into a look of surprise.  "Darkspawn?  Are you assisting the Wardens again then?"

Kit shook her head in negation.  "Actually, I just need to collect some ironbark for Sol, in the Gallows.  But the place the Dalish normally harvest from is apparently having darkspawn problems."  She shrugged and hefted her pack.

"I hope you're taking Anders with you," he said, and her own eyebrows shot up in surprise.  The two men were barely civil to one another, making no pretense of their mutual dislike.  Sebastian saw the look and said, defensively, "I don't like him, but he  _is_  a Warden as well as a healer- better to have him along when darkspawn are involved."

Kit sighed.  "Unfortunately, it's just me this time- everyone else seems to be busy at the moment."

Sebastian's eyes widened.  "Hawke," he began, "I know you're a strong warrior, but you can't be thinking of going alone on such an endeavor."

"Sol's been waiting for months for the ironbark," she responded, "and he's promised me a decent sum for its retrieval.  I  _have_  fought darkspawn before, you know."

"Alone?" he countered.  "You didna even ask me."  

An unwelcome heat curled in Kit's belly as his accent thickened slightly.   _Maker, did you have to make him so lovely to look at and listen to, but such a prat otherwise?_

"I'd rather assumed you wouldn't want to come along for such a mundane task," she said, gesturing to the sharpened hand-axe she'd tucked into her belt.  "No heroic rescues or dramatic battles, after all."

His dark skin, only a few shades lighter than her own, flushed a delicate rose at her words.  Aqua eyes flashed as they met golden, and they stared at one another, challengingly.

They looked almost like siblings but for the color of their eyes, Kit realized, but the feelings he engendered were anything but brotherly.  She wondered, suddenly, what he would do if she simply moved forward, claimed those sculpted lips with her own, or set her teeth in his neck and tasted the warmth of his flushed skin.

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he stopped, still, then dropped her gaze, flushing darker.  She looked away.  "Well," she said, at a loss for words.  "I should get going."

At that his head whipped back up.  "I won't hear of it.  Give me a half-hour to collect my things and I'll go with you."

Kit rolled her eyes.  "It's not neccessary, Sebastian."  She moved past the doorway, intending her proximity to force him into the street.  She found herself surprised when he stood stock-still, refusing to budge, and suddenly he was far, far too close for comfort.  She angled up her head and looked at him, inhaling the scent of the Chantry's sandalwood incense, the deeper, clean musk that was his scent.

"I insist," he said, quietly, his voice slightly rough as he stared down at her, his determined expression clear proof that she would not win this battle.

Desire sparked in her, stole her breath, and she felt as much as heard his own breath catch in response.   _Oh, Maker have mercy_ , she thought- here was the man himself, the roguish boy whose wild passions had been the shame of his family, rather than the statue he pretended to be.  The statue admitted only one passion, and that was for the Chantry, but the man who towered before her, eyes on her mouth was affected by a different passion altogether.

He licked his lips and stepped back, gracefully giving her space and a moment where they both composed themselves.  Facade carefully in place, he gestured.  "After you, my lady."

Kit gave in and headed towards the Chantry, the man striding at her side silent.

****************************************************************

As it turned out, they'd only needed a scant quarter-hour for him to retrieve his satchel and bow, and as he'd stepped outside, fumbling with the buckles on his armor, she sighed.  "Hold still."

With economy of movement, she fastened the buckles on his breastplate, rerebrace, and vambrace.  "Lacquered pilot whale," she muttered, and looked up in time to see him stifle a laugh.

"I'd like to see a whale with a bow," he grinned at her, settling his quiver and pack on his back, bow case slung over one arm by its leather strap.

They took the stairs near Fenris' mansion to Lowtown, exiting the city a half-hour later.  The day was beginning to heat up, and Kit was glad they'd left by midmorning.  As they left the city limits, Sebastian asked, "Do you believe in the Maker, Hawke?  I've yet to get a straight answer from you."

Kit sighed- could he talk of nothing else?  "Honestly, Sebastian, I don't know.  I've never seen or heard Him- but I suppose that's inconclusive either way."

"But you see the work of His hands all around you," he insisted.  "How can you doubt?"

"But why not Mythal?" she asked.  "Or the Old Gods of the Tevinter?  What proof do you have that the Maker is anything other than a fiction created by man to explain the world?"

"The sun rises and sets, the tides go in and out, and we accept these things without proof," he countered.  "Do you require proof that the sun will rise tomorrow, or do you simply accept on faith that it will?"

"Faith is an easy answer for that which we cannot explain," Kit said wearily.  Too many times they'd danced this dance.  "Thousands of years ago no one knew why touching a certain metal or eating a certain berry drove one insane or caused a death- they could simply blame it on the whim of the Maker and be done with it.  But with observation and study comes knowledge- we've learned that lyrium addles the mind, that moonseed berries are poisonous.  Even if we don't yet know the  _how_ , we understand the  _why_ , and perhaps in thousands of years we won't need the crutch of faith to explain things."

"Even if learning can explain how things work," he said after a moment, "there had to be a hand in its creation.  You canna have something from nothing, Hawke.  If laws govern our world then they were set there by the Maker's hand, and work according to his direction."

"I have no answers for you, Sebastian," Kit said, "and I suspect you have none for me either.  Even if there is a creator, we have no way of knowing whether it's the Maker or the gods of the Elvish, or some completely unknown god.  We have no guarantee that the Chant of Light is anything but a fiction used by men to further men's goals, and I cannot accept the blind faith that satisfies you so completely."

They walked in silence for a time.  Kit breathed in the fresh air, enjoyed the birdsong, the dappled sunlight that broke through the trees.

"I do not agree with you, Hawke," he said, finally.

"I'm not asking you to agree with me, Sebastian," she replied.  "All I ask is for acknowledgement that I am neither uninformed, uneducated, or unintelligent.  I have asked myself these questions, and in the absence of proof I choose to reserve my judgement.  If your faith brings you peace, so be it.  I have no wish to interfere in the happiness of another."

"If it is such acknowledgement that you seek, consider it given," he responded.  "Think of my words as coming from a friend who would not see you condemned to the Void without their lack."

"If the Maker exists, and he created me, and he would know my mind better than anyone else," Kit answered.  "If he chose to condemn me for being as he made me, then there is little I can do to change it."

"You sound like Anders," Sebastian said, his tone tinged with dislike.

"I can understand that, given that he uses the same arguments to defend all who are born mages," she said.

"Do you support these rebels?" he asked after a moment.

"Suffice it to say that Anders is a friend, and one of the best people I've ever met.  I've also had the privilege of having Bethany for a sister, and my Da was also a mage- and they too were and are exemplary people.  All of the mages I've come to know personally have done nothing to earn the Maker's wrath, and I cannot consider the gifts that have saved my life and yours as a curse," Kit answered.  

"I prefer to judge people by their actions, not their Maker-granted abilities, and I would not see Anders or Beth mistreated for a simple accident of birth.  The mages of the Circle are at the mercy of their templar brethren- and I've heard enough to know that such power is commonly abused," she continued.

"But mages have the ability to control minds, to kill with a thought or a word, and are susceptible to possession.  Abominations can kill hundreds of innocents if left unchecked.  Surely some sort of oversight is neccessary, as much to protect the mages as to protect the common man.  If a man chose to blame an adulterous wife or a poor crop on a mage, who would protect him against unjust accusations if not for the templars?"  Sebastian's voice rang with the surety of his convictions.

"And is locking all of them up for the majority of their lives fair or just, Sebastian?  Anders once told me that they locked him away in a cell for a year, alone, with no one to talk to, no sunlight, no exercise, simply because he wanted to be free.  My Da never spoke of the Circle, but I often found him awake at night, pulled from sleep by nightmares that he never explained."  She sighed.

"You saw what the demon did to the Harimanns," he answered, "Would you let such evil loose in the world?"

"And I've seen just as much evil from people with no magic at all- bandits, assassins, Tal-Valshoth, murderers, thieves, rapists.  Magic is simply a tool, like any other, and a sword or a bow can kill as readily as a spell."  

They walked on in silence.

Kit and Sebastian stopped at midday and let the worst of the heat pass, breaking their midday fast in the shade of the forest.

"Do you have forests like this near Starkhaven?" Kit asked, watching the archer's face soften at the mention of his beloved city.

"Aye, 'tis quite heavily wooded along the Minanter," he replied, "but there's good hunting to be found a few day's ride to the south where the grasslands start."

"Ferelden is so brown and rocky," she replied, "all mountains and wilds and freeholds.  It feels different here- more settled, perhaps."

He smiled.  "Starkhaven is even larger than Kirkwall- her granite and marble quarries have served the needs the entirety of the Free Marches, along with Antiva.  Her position on the river serves her well in trade, and she is a center of faith and learning, art and music- a beacon of beauty and culture which shines for all the world to see."

"You sound like you miss it," she said.

"Every day for the last seventeen years," he replied, and they were both quiet, letting the peace of the forest wash over them.

****************************************************************

"Andraste's great flaming pyre," Kit gasped, sword in hand as she sat, suddenly on a log.  "I had no idea there'd be so many."

Sebastian looked wearily at her, dagger in hand, quiver empty.  He'd retrieved and unstrung his bow, wiping it carefully before stowing it back in its case.

They'd come across the darkspawn after another hour of walking- Sebastian had braced it when they'd drawn close, foot on the base, pushing the other end up and drawing in the center, sliding the string into position with the ease of long practice.  He made it look easy, but Kit knew that to string a bow of that size was a feat of strength in and of itself.  They'd stowed their packs nearby before investigating, finding as soon as they crested the first hill that the place was overrun with genlocks and hurlocks.

Kit had charged in, sword at the ready, shield in hand, dodging and blocking their attacks, cutting them down with brutal strikes of her longsword, screaming her defiance at them as arrows had whistled past, finding vulnerable spots with unerring accuracy.

When the ogre had appeared they'd been taken aback, Kit rolling and dodging the creature's slow but devastating strikes, Sebastian sinking the remainder of his poison-tipped arrows into the creature's throat, belly, and head.

When he'd run out of arrows he'd charged in, dagger in hand, hamstringing the creature from behind with silent concentration as she'd kept the fiend's attention.

In the space of a quarter hour, it was done, both of them careful not to touch the corrupted blood and gore that covered their armor and weapons.

"We need to get this stuff off- I have some of Anders' potion," she offered, and he nodded, following her over the ridge back towards their stowed packs and the river.

Pulling off a gauntlet, she wrestled in her pack to pull out an astringent cake of soap and a large flask.  Anders had given her several flasks of the potion the last time they'd headed into the Deep Roads, telling her that it would cleanse their gear of the corruption, allowing them to rinse and wash and wear it without fearing the taint.  When she'd asked him why corruption victims didn't drink it, he'd told her that the potion itself would kill anyone who ingested it.  "Topical use only," he'd said with a grin and a rare dose of gallows humor.

She stripped off her gauntlets then peeled off the rest of her armor, noting that Sebastian was doing the same.  She carefully poured the potion over the blood on her armor, grimacing at the tingle it left on her fingers.  Once she'd carefully gotten every spot, she handed the flask to Sebastian.

"Hold still," he said, reaching out a potion-covered fingertip, smoothing it over her cheek, taking care of the bloodied spot she hadn't realized was there.

He tilted her head with a firm touch, checking for blood in her hair, and she felt herself flush slightly at the feel of his callused fingertips on her skin.

"I think it's gone," he said, and she nodded, giving him a once-over.  "I think you've escaped bathing in corrupted blood," she quipped, seeing an answering smile on his face.

She handed him the flask and began to cart her armor over to the river, where she rinsed each piece before closing her eyes and splashing water over her head.  Maker, that water felt  _good_ \- she'd thought it was hot before, and although the worst of the day was behind them, the exertion of battle added to the ambient temperature.

 _To the Void with it,_  she decided, stripping off her sweat-soaked tunic.   _I'm not dying of heatstroke after felling twenty-odd darkspawn._

She splashed water over herself for a few moments, enjoying the cool wet, when a shocked voice came from behind her.  "What the-  _Hawke!_   What in the Maker's name are you doing?"

She could practically hear the embarrassment in his voice.

"It's bloody  _hot_ , Sebastian," she said, "And you're a former Chantry brother in addition to a reformed rake.  I'm inclined to either remind you to think chaste thoughts as befitting your station, or simply remind you that I've nothing you haven't seen before."

He was silent.  She took that as assent and spent no time in stripping off boots, breeches, and untying her hose from her smalls.   Without further ado, she waded into the river.  If he didn't like it, well  _sod_  him, he'd pushed to come along.  She didn't wear a breastband, but her back was to him, and the cool of the river felt fantastic-

She felt her cheeks flame as the sounds of splashing came from the riverbank.

He was just rinsing his armor, of course.  And she wasn't going to turn, wasn't going to look to see if he was following her example, because down that path lay madness-

"I suppose you're right," he said from the bank.

Kit ducked into the water, swimming lazily into the middle- the current was fairly quiet, here, and as she relaxed, enjoying the cool stillness, she felt the stress of living in Kirkwall drain away.

She shrieked when a hand closed around her ankle, yanking her under the water.  She surfaced, sputtering, to see Sebastian swimming a few feet away, hair slicked back with water as he grinned unrepentantly at her.

"Take care, lass," he said, "A river monster might make off with you."

Kit rolled her eyes and splashed water at him.  He splashed back, and a moment later, she launched herself at him, bearing him down and ducking him in the river with her weight.  "River monster indeed," she smirked, but when strong arms came around her, and pulled her under, she struggled, trying to push him away, mirth bubbling in her as they wrestled like otters.

They surfaced at the same time, gasping and laughing, Kit spitting out water while Sebastian wiped water out of his eyes with one hand, his other arm around her waist.

"Release me, river monster," she laughed, pushing at his chest in an attempt to break his hold, and realized, suddenly, that his chest was covered in a fine dusting of coppery hair, and that he was beautifully muscled, nearly nude, and holding her to him.  The heat that shot through her core was inevitable.

She tensed in his grasp and his gaze snapped to her face, and she could see that he read her as clearly as a book.  "'Tis nothing you havena seen before," he teased softly, eyes intense, and in response she traced her palms up his chest, over his collarbone, over muscled shoulders, and without a word leaned in to taste his lips.

His arm tightened around her waist, his other hand coming around to pull her tight, hand stroking up her spine as he leaned into the kiss.

She began to tremble as he proved without a doubt that time had dulled none of his expertise, and there was no doubt that in  _this_  particular activity he was a master.

He pressed his lips to hers, softly, releasing her for a single moment before starting with another soft press.  She whimpered when he ran his tongue lightly along her lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently, his hand moving up to cup her jaw.

When they came up for air, drawing in ragged breaths as he brushed his mouth softly over hers, she whispered against his lips, "Sebastian-"

"Hawke," he whispered back, and she couldn't help the mirth that bubbled up.  "If you're going to kiss me until I can't see straight, at least call me by my first name," she whispered back, feeling his lips curve in a smile.

"Kit," he corrected, softly, before nudging her mouth open with his tongue, continuing to kiss her senseless.

When he moved to press his lips against her neck, she leaned back to grant him access.  But it suddenly occurred to her-

"Sebastian," she said, and the low murmur against her neck made her squirm.  "We're in the middle of a river."

She felt him shake with laughter.  "So we are," he answered, his hands coming down to cup her buttocks, making her squirm as he hoisted her against him.  

"Hold on," he said, and she suddenly realized that although she wasn't tall enough to reach the bottom of the riverbed, apparently he  _was_ , and he was going to carry her out of the river like a river god with his prize.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and bent to kiss the clean line of his jaw as he carried her to shore.

"You're strong," she whispered in his ear, before moving to suck gently on his earlobe.  He made a small sound and slowly released her, sliding her down his wet body, the thin, wet cloth of his braies and her smalls doing nothing to disguise the hot, erect length pressing up against her hip.

She pressed a kiss to his chest, sliding her hands over his hips, and taking a deep breath, asked, "Sebastian?  Are you- sure?"

That warm, callused hand came back to her jaw, tilting her head up to look at him, and aqua eyes met golden.  "former Chantry brother," he said, reiterating her words, before his mouth quirked upwards, "and former reformed rake."

She snickered in amusement.

"If I have nothing else, I will have you," he said, voice rough, and bent down for another kiss.

Her eyes fluttered open when he broke the kiss, and with quick strides gathered up their scattered clothing.  When he'd quickly arranged it into a semblance of a blanket on a patch of grass, he sat down, leaning on one bent knee, the other leg spread out before him, and crooked his finger at her.   _Come here_ , the gesture said, and the knowing expression on his face made her knees weak.

She went, sitting down on the pile of clothes, and in the next moment he had pushed her gently back, laying between her legs, supporting his weight on his arms as he trailed kisses from her lips down her neck, pausing to devour her with his eyes, saying huskily,  "You're verra beautiful."

She arched into him as he suckled the pink tip of one breast, his hand coming between them to toy with the other.  

"Sebastian," she whispered.  He laved her breast with his tongue before moving to the other, and she let out a soft cry, running her hands along his shoulders, burying them in his coppery hair, feeling him shift lower, hands at her hips urging her to lift.

He pulled her wet smalls off, and the minute they were gone he was on her, pushing her legs wide, parting her with his hand, and when he covered her with his mouth she gasped.  "Oh, Maker, Sebastian,  _yes_ ," she said.

He tongued her with firm strokes, moving in to suckle her clit for a moment before backing off to resume lapping at her, stroking her nub before moving down to lick her in one long line from the bottom of her slit to the top.

Her head fell to the side as he continued to pleasure her-  _this_  man had been a Chantry brother?  He destroyed her with consummate ease, reading her gasps and moans and quickly finding the pressure and rhythm that made her buck into his mouth, occasional teasing presses of his tongue into her depths making her desperate for him.

"Please, Sebastian," she whispered, and when one skilled finger entered her, quickly followed by a second, the walls of her vulva gripping him while he continued the rhythm with his tongue, his other hand stroking along her thigh.

And then he locked on and sucked, fingers moving in rhythm, her increasingly frantic cries urging him on, and then sparks exploded behind her closed eyes, her hands buried in his hair as he kept up the pace, that same perfect pressure and rhythm extending the orgasm as she shuddered and writhed and wailed.

When she relaxed, he slowed, fingers and tongue still moving slowly enough to make her sob in reaction, thighs gripping his head.  "Oh, Maker, Sebastian, stop,  _stop_ ," she whimpered, and he stilled, pressing a kiss to her thigh before slowly removing his fingers.

She watched through half-lidded eyes as he rolled to his back, unlacing his wet braies with quick movements before shoving them down, off, and once freed he moved to cover her, guiding himself to her with one hand.

They both moaned as he nudged her, pushing with short, slow thrusts, easing into her inch by torturous inch.

He claimed her mouth possessively, the kiss no longer gentle as he began to thrust in earnest, the drag of his length inside her nearly bringing her again as he hooked one arm around the inside of her knee, pulling her leg up high.  She wrapped her other leg around his waist as he buried himself in her, over and over, the grinding of his hips against hers making her whimper, buried so deep that he was hitting her the mouth of her womb with every thrust, and the sensation so sharp it was no longer pain, coupled with the glorious friction as she bucked against him, the only thought in her mind _there, there, right THERE_  as he pushed her over the edge again.

He cried out as she vised around him, his pace speeding, thrusting as deeply as he could, and she hugged him tightly to her as he buried his face in her neck and came, his cries muffled against her throat as he tensed, trembled, loosed himself within her. 

They lay tangled in each other, breath slowing, and as she ran her fingers through that copper hair she couldn't stop the questions that ran through her mind.

"What will you do now?"  Kit asked softly.

He kissed her neck gently-  _Maker, the man loved to kiss_ \- before propping himself on his forearms to look at her.

"My family has accounts with the Merchant's Guild- I've never availed myself of them, but perhaps it's time.  They'd not thank me for doing nothing."

She traced a finger along his jaw, admiring the clean planes of his face, the strong nose, prominent cheekbones, the stunning brightness of teal eyes amidst the warmth of his hair and skin.

He continued- "They have a saying in Starkhaven- 'indecision is the graveyard of good intentions.'  My grandfather always used to remind me when I was a boy that choosing to do nothing is still a choice, and I do no honor to his memory by refusing to act."

He disengaged himself, rolling to the side and pulling her with him, cradling her against his chest.  "I suppose I'll let a house in Hightown and start calling in favors to raise or hire an army."  His lips quirked.  "I never thought that I'd end up leading military forces to Starkhaven after all."

Kit nodded, fingers toying with the copper hair on his chest.  "Well, at least you'll have some nice neighbors," she teased.

"Oh, nice, is it?" he said, archly.

"Well, perhaps 'naughty' would be a better word," she amended, rewarded with his throaty chuckle.

"I think I prefer naughty," he said, running a hand possessively down her body.

"What the Vael wants, the Vael gets," she said with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N- just realized they never got the ironbark... I guess they forgot, hehe. XD
> 
> Also, this fill is inspired in part by the song "Edge of Desire" by John Mayer.


End file.
